


a certain conversation lost

by sufjanstevensapologist



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Bisexual Archie Andrews, F/M, Gen, How Can Riverdale Timelines Be Real If Our Eyes Aren't Real, M/M, Sexuality Crisis, more tags to come, riverdale is not a good town, some may call this self indulgent projection i prefer the term art
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 14:16:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19007485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sufjanstevensapologist/pseuds/sufjanstevensapologist
Summary: Archie imagined he was meant to feel formidable. He just felt tired. Wires straining, he drags along a crudely drawn line of predetermination, all aching.





	a certain conversation lost

The thing about being desirable, as is the case with most desirable things, Archie had come to learn, is there was always be a price to be paid. If not immediate, in the form of blood in his mouth, a debt would approach, sweet and caressing, advancing with a smile. In this case, it was how he found himself in the position of a commodity. Since the whole deal with Jason (an event that on reflection appeared more and more a cataclysmic turning point, the initial tolling of an as yet unseen bell) Archie could hardly remember having a day during which he belonged to himself. One in which he wasn't, less so swept, than violently yanked, from his feet towards overwrought schemes, which multiplied and became just as increasingly ridiculous as they were proven to ultimately be true. He was pulled unwillingly closer and closer to the epicentre.

Archie was not a narcissist. It was just that lately he had a creeping awareness that everything he touched was destined to crumble, diseased and rotten. Invisible vices, the town's walls strained to close in on him, crushing others in their path. Any sense of normalcy struggled to stabilise in their wake. The air pressure was rising.

7:00

The unforgiving blare of a flashing bleating alarm transforms the light of dusk to a fluorescent pulsating siren, casting distorted shadows on the walls of his room. Everything was distorted now, his life a perverse parody of the way that things were supposed to go. Straining to effectively carry out the disarmament of the guilty device, a clean blow from bedside table to carpet, he catches sight of an inverted Pacino, staring out, a guard(ian)-dog/angel of the teenage bedroom.

Getting out of bed in the mornings with the best of intentions is one thing, standing up to Hiram Lodge, the father of _the girl he was in love with_ was quite another. As Archie was privy to a growing number of the talks with his men, he caught hold of hushed conversations, mouth to ear, fragments of a scheme far above his head. Fragments, though, can still paint a muddy, if spotty, picture of the town that Riverdale was becoming. Perhaps the town Riverdale always was. Only this time, amplified to dizzying levels.

Saturation, in all areas of life, was becoming too high: his brain was always foggy, a dull ache had happily taken up residence in his bones. As Hiram teased with shreds of power, or maybe just mirages of said power, a seat at a table yet to materialise, Archie imagined he was meant to feel formidable. He just felt tired.

Wires straining, he drags along a crudely drawn line of predetermination, all aching.

**Author's Note:**

> a taster.   
> this is the first fic i've published online since some crudely rendered highschool au of a band that shall not be named around five years ago.   
> please play nice, and i hope you enjoy my 'but what if it was that deep?' riverdale self-indulgence


End file.
